How To Save A Life
by BeGodlyBeLynn
Summary: Follows OC Virginia Shannon as she struggles with the loss of her family, the escalating undead crisis, and the increasing unrest of the survivors she has allied herself with. Starts during the Great Panic. Read and Review please. T to be safe.
1. Exposition

How to Save A Life, Chapter 1

"Sam!" That was Ginny, her voice full of irritation. "Are you helping?"

Sam lifted his head from the pillow and turned groggily in the direction of the voice. "Coming," he mumbled.

"God dammit, I can't do this alone!"

"I said I'm coming!"

Groaning, Sam heaved himself out of bed and pulled his shirt on. His sister had been getting on edge lately, riding his ass about every little thing. Maybe it was because Dad was pulling an assignment in L.A., or maybe it was because of the news reports they'd been hearing lately. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was nothing.

He came downstairs to see Ginny looking rather cross, standing in the kitchen next to a sink full of unwashed dishes. He shook his head, suppressing a morbid smile.

"_Dishes_?" he asked incredulously. "Come on, Ginny—"

"For Christ's sake, I asked you to clean up! Last night! I asked you to clean up after you and your friends! Come on, at least help me clean up the living room. It smells like a bitch."

She tossed him a rag and turned to the dishes with a loud huff. Sam rolled his eyes and bent to pick up some paper cups on the carpet, trying to remain angry, but it was hard when her silence fell on his ears like a hammer. He went over to the trash can, threw his "catch" inside, and went over to his sister.

"I'm sorry, Gin," he said apologetically. "It won't happen again."

She sighed and shrugged resignedly. "It's fine, I guess," she said. "I'm just sick of…of everything."

Sam studied her for a bit, decided not to push it, and returned to the living room.

By the time they were finished, it was almost noon, and they were both starving. Sam went over to the fridge and made to open it when Ginny interrupted.

"It's empty," she said. "We'll just have to order pizza."

He turned away from it dejectedly. "Shit."

"It's not all bad," she said lightly. "We still have some money left over. Phone." Ginny held her hand out for the receiver.

The pizza didn't come.

"What the hell?" demanded Sam, looking at the clock anxiously. "It's been an hour."

"No shit," Ginny snapped. "This sucks."

"Well, now what should we do?"

* * *

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

What, indeed.

Ginny scanned the empty road, looking for anything out of turn. She knew that she wouldn't find anything, but pretending to have some sort of objective kept her mind away from those unwelcome memories.

The small camping light flickered and died, and she was engulfed in darkness. She swore under her breath. That had been their last light.

Something shifted behind her and Ginny turned just in time to see Shane sidle up next to her. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hi," she replied.

Silence. Her new companion studied her, as if trying to figure out what was going on in her head. "Something on your mind?"

Ginny shrugged, staring pointedly at the yellow stripe bisecting the deserted road. Finally, when she got the feeling he wasn't going away, she sighed. "Why the hell are we here, Shane?"

He seemed to be expecting the question. "I don't know. Maybe because we were faster. Maybe because we knew better. I don't know. I just know that we're alive and I want to keep it that way."

"If that's why we're still alive," Ginny said, turning to him angrily, "I don't see why my brother is dead."

Shane relented, feeling the sick sensation of crossing a line with someone he liked. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know."

"Then what are you saying?"

Ginny dropped her gaze. "He's dead," she said feebly.

"You don't know that, do you?" he said desperately.

"Of course I know!" The fury in her voice shocked him and he fell silent. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, "I watched him die."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Ginny, I'm so sorry—"

"Yeah," she said bitterly. "I suppose everyone is."

Shane struggled to find the right words. "Tell me what happened," he said hoarsely.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not ready."

He nodded silently and looked away. When nothing else was said, he sighed and reached for the spare rifle on the roof of the RV and spent the next six hours next to her, keeping his eyes on the road.


	2. Hundred

How to Save a Life, Chapter 2

"Ginny, we have to go!"

"Hang on! We can take another gun—"

"No! God dammit, we have to get out of here _now_—"

Ginny's face appeared in the window. "Okay, okay! Fine. We can pick up another gun later."

"Just come on—I can't hold this for much longer—"

Sam felt the distinct sensation of his arms being ripped out of his sockets as she sent the bag over first, and then climbed across the rope herself. The moment her feet hit the sill, the barricade in the other house gave way, and there was the sound of splintering wood as several undead stumbled into the formerly occupied room, howling at them.

Sam huffed, pulling the rope in. "That was close."

"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "Let's move out."

It wasn't until they'd gone a few blocks when Ginny popped the million dollar question. "By the way, do we have any idea where we're going?"

He froze. "What?"

"Where are we going?"

They both stopped. There was a beat of silence.

"Well, this is awkward." She cracked a smile.

Sam looked around, thinking. "If we get onto the highway, maybe we could—"

"No," she said firmly. "We'd have to go through the city, and we both know what's waiting for us there."

He nodded. "True."

They were interrupted by a rustling sound in the bushes. "Hold up."

Ginny turned around, crowbar in hand. She laid eyes on the source of the noise and stepped back in disgust.

"Holy fucking shit," she yelped.

It was a zombie—what else could it have been? It was nothing but a disembodied torso, dragging itself along on ragged and mangled arms. Its entrails slid liquidly along behind it, creating the illusion of a grotesque snail. It snarled up at them, swiping at Ginny's sneakers.

She gagged and took another step back, raising the crowbar up above her head. With crushing force, she brought it down onto its skull. There was a sickening crack, and the zombie moved no more.

Ginny turned back to Sam. "Let's get someplace where they can't follow," she suggested. She looked ill. She still clutched the bloody crowbar in her hands.

Sam nodded silently. They pressed on, both fully aware of the blood now on their hands.

* * *

Ginny raised the gun and pulled the trigger without a second thought.

It never stopped, this killing. No. As long as they kept coming, there would always be killing. She couldn't say that she was getting used to it, but killing zombies was certainly different from killing a person.

Even if zombies used to be people.

Ginny still felt that gutwrenching pang of guilt whenever she killed one of them. That never went away, either. They were better off dead. And yet…

The feeling of regret was fading. It scared her a little, that she could kill something and think almost nothing of it. What was happening to her?

_It's survival_, she reminded herself. _If we don't kill these things, nobody will. And then they'll go about and bite us. Or someone else. And then there'll be more._

Frank had finished digging the hole. They laboriously rolled the bodies in and sprinkled some of the lighter fluid onto them. Ginny lit a match and let it fall, turning her face away from the putrid stench of burning flesh. That was getting less noticeable, too. She knew that everyone else could feel it, too, this feeling of their humanity rapidly slipping away. Despite all the idyllic and fantastical dreams they shared around the campfire, they all knew the old life was never coming back.

They had trekked farther away from Los Angeles, hoping to find a military base or even a prison in which to take refuge. Now, they were camped beside another deserted road, filled with empty and burned out cars.

The fires of the burning city were still visible. The smoke was a sharp accent to the velvet backdrop of the night sky, with flames leaping at the air. Ginny didn't want to think about how many people were still trapped inside, throwing themselves at the impenetrable barricades standing between them and freedom. When she closed her eyes, she imagined she was one of them, screaming in terror and anger as the government abandoned them and the stinking mob of the undead drew nearer.

The entire city hadn't been quarantined, just the inner city. It was so unfair, Ginny thought, that the poor people trying to get by in a place abandoned by Uncle Sam had been left to die in the end. The inner city buildings had the best chance of surviving, too. It was a shame.

A few yards away, the fire they'd made was quietly smoldering itself to death. Ginny didn't have to shine the flashlight to know that the bodies had been barely charred. There simply wasn't enough heat.

It was midnight. A helicopter's rotors beat hundreds of feet above her head, flying off to parts unknown. Ginny didn't even bother looking up. They had stopped trying to signal aircraft a long time ago.

Shane hadn't come up again, thank God. He meant well, but what happened in Manhattan Beach wasn't something she wanted to discuss. It was too painful. She suspected, also, that he wanted more than to talk. It was quite blatant in the way he acted around her. _Subtlety is dead_, she thought dryly. Or rather, undead. She shook her head at the thought.

There was a soft drumming on the RV as someone else came up to join her. She turned, expecting Shane, but was greeted by a young woman instead.

"Hey, Veronica."

"Pulling guard duty again?"

"Yeah. What are you doing up here?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Same."

There was a silence. Veronica glanced at her, and then her eyes returned to the city burning miles away.

"Do you suppose anyone made it out alive?"

Ginny shook her head. "I doubt it. Even if they survived the zombies…that's an entire city full of anarchy."

"Wasn't your dad pulling an assignment there?"

Ginny turned her head and gave the other woman a look that could've shattered glass. Veronica recoiled. She regretted her words immediately.

"Yeah," Ginny said frostily.

The tension in the air could've been cut with a knife. Veronica relented.

"Okay," she said quickly. "You want to get some sleep? I'm about as tired as a rabbit on crack."

A smile played at the corner of Ginny's lips as she shook her head. "No," she said. "I'll take the rest of the night."

"You sure?" Veronica teased.

"A rabbit on crack isn't very observant," Ginny reasoned.

"Fine." She turned away, chuckling a little. "See you in the morning."

* * *

**A/N: Now that I know what's going to happen, the next few chapters should be coming in a fairly timely fashion. Hmm. I will make this my Thursday pet project. Every Thursday, there's going to be a new chapter. I'm not sure how well I'm going to enforce this but it should be fun to try.**

**I hope this satisfied your reading desires! I'm going to go into depth about what really happened to Ginny's brother and father. Her mother is long dead, by the way. Just putting that out there.**


	3. Dead Wrong

How to Save a Life, Chapter 3

* * *

_two weeks ago_

"Son of a bitch!" He swore and snapped the phone shut. "There's no signal."

Ginny groaned and leaned her head back against the wall of the treehouse. "Try again."

"It's not going to change anything," Sam grumbled. "The phone lines are all gummed up. I mean, what the hell? I didn't expect everyone to freak out this quickly."

Ginny glanced out the window. "I dunno. We've been cooped up for a while."

Sam dropped his gaze. "It couldn't have all gone to hell over night," he said miserably. "It just couldn't have."

There was a long pause as the full weight of Sam's words crashed down on Ginny's head.

_Dad._

"Oh, God," she whispered. "Do you think—"

"Yeah," he said. "I think so."

"We have to find him!"

"No, we don't." Ginny recoiled as new force entered Sam's voice. "It's suicide. We can't go into the city."

"What are we going to do, then?"

Sam leaned forward and met her eyes. "We have to stay alive. We're here. He's not. He's a sheriff, Ginny. He can take care of himself. And when he comes back—" his eyes momentarily hit the floor— "we should be alive to meet him."

She looked mutinously at him and opened her mouth to argue, but she knew the truth to his words. She relented.

"We have to get away from here."

"I know."

"We could find shelter at the high school," Ginny suggested. "Take cover in one of the history buildings, maybe get the word out that we'll protect people?"

"School," Sam breathed. A new light entered his eyes. "What about USC? Or UCLA? We could follow the highway, make it there. It's a big place, they've probably locked it down, but…"

A smile crept onto Ginny's face. "I think you're onto something."

* * *

_one week ago_

Ginny took watch alone that night, sitting on the roof of the RV and staring out onto the deserted road. She weighed the thermal camera in her hand, thinking. Finding it in Mr. Barnes' house, next to the window facing her room, had unpleasant implications. She felt utterly violated, and if there was anything lower than bottom...

She hugged her knees to her chest, biting back the hot tears that burned behind her eyes. No. It did no good to cry. It does no good to cry.

She continued to tell herself this as the tears spilled over and quiet, agonized sobs wracked through her body. She quickly became oblivious of everything but her own grief, struggling to come back to reality.

It was a warm hand squeezing her shoulder that brought her back. Ginny gasped and twisted around to see Shane creep up next to her and sit, quietly holding her gaze.

"You okay?" he murmured.

She nodded mutely, staring at the charred ground beneath the RV.

"Are you crying?"

"S'no good to cry," she said thickly. Shane chuckled and looked out onto the road, smiling a little.

"I can't stop thinking about it," she said finally.

"I'd be disturbed, too," he agreed.

"It's not just that," she sniffled. "He was a nice guy. Always did well by us. And now that I know he was...I feel so violated."

"At least it's not gonna happen anymore."

"I suppose not."

His next question sent chills running up her spine. "You have a brother, don't you?"

Silence.

"I did."

"What happened?"

"That's none of your fucking business."

"Duly noted."

She suppressed a smile and snorted. "Prick."

"Calling me names won't change anything."

"Prick," she said again.

"Why are you calling me a prick?"

"Cause it feels good."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Why are you on guard alone?"

"Because I want to be alone."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, because who wouldn't be perfectly fine in a zombie apocalypse?"

"Point taken."

There was a heavy silence. Shane sighed and flicked an invisible fly off his shoulder before speaking.

"If you need to talk, Ginny, I'm always here."

She nodded. "Okay."

Another pause. Seeing that nothing else would come of continuing the conversation, he exhaled sharply and got up, quietly making his way to the RV's ladder. "G'night."

She nodded quietly, listening to his footsteps fading into the dark.

* * *

_present day_

Breakfast was a quiet affair. The group sat huddled around the small fire, shivering violently. Even in Southern California, it was cold, and the fire wasn't helping anything.

Ginny's meal of squirrel and canned pears remained untouched. She looked slightly ill, and she kept her eyes on her shoes. Finally, she got up, muttering something about cleaning her gun, and left the circle.

Veronica waited until she was out of earshot before leaning in, speaking in a hushed voice.

"I'm worried about the poor girl."

They had probably been expecting such a statement. Shane looked up, suddenly awake. Everyone else stopped eating and waited for her to continue.

"She's been like this for a while," Shane agreed quietly.

"She isn't eating," Frank murmured. "Not sleeping, either. Always taking watch. And she never takes her eyes off the city. And she won't let anyone else use that crowbar of hers." He looked around at the rest of them. "What do you suppose happened in Manhattan Beach?"

"I think I have some idea," Shane said. "She watched her own brother die. At least, that's what she told me."

Danny snorted and rolled his eyes. "Woman, we've all been through hell. I don't think anyone here can say that it's been a walk in the park. Why the sudden concern in one girl?"

Veronica threw down her fork in frustration. "She's _sixteen_, for Christ's sake!" Her blue eyes burned into Danny's scornful gray ones. "Sixteen-year-olds shouldn't be acting this way. She's only a child. She—"

"I'm not a _kid._"

They fell silent. Veronica looked over Shane's head to see Ginny, standing a few feet off, glaring at them. Clutching her gun in her hands. For a horrible moment Veronica thought she might shoot someone, but the girl threw the gun down and stalked over to them.

"You wanna know what happened?" she snarled. "I'll fucking tell you what happened."

She looked around, daring anyone to speak up. She picked up her crowbar from the ground and held it up for everyone to see.

"It was just me and my brother," she said. "We were headed for the air force base, but we got swarmed on the highway. I got away. Sam wasn't so lucky."

There was a pregnant pause, and she continued. "Poor bastard had six, seven Gs riding his ass. He was screaming…screaming at me to end it, to save him…and I tried." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I wasted the entire clip trying to save him. But it was too late. It didn't matter what I did at that point, he was doomed and we both knew it. So…he asked me to end it."

Veronica closed her eyes, horrified. She didn't want to hear the rest.

"I brought up the gun, and I pulled the trigger," Ginny said matter-of-factly. "The gun was empty."

Veronica sneaked a glance at Shane. He was riveted to the spot in shock, transfixed by the awfulness of what she had to say.

"So I did the only thing I could."

Silence.

"I took the crowbar, and I bashed his brains in. Took two minutes for him to die."

Shane didn't know what was more terrifying—the brutal death of her brother, or the casual way in which she told the story. She turned the crowbar around in her hands, meeting Shane's eyes. Her expression was unreadable.

"So now you know," she said calmly.

And then she was gone. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared to breathe.

Finally, Danny broke the silence. "Holy shit."

Inspiration struck Shane and he sprang up, walking at a brisk pace in the direction Ginny had taken. The others hung behind, murmuring among themselves.

* * *

He followed her to the pit of charred bodies, where she was sitting on the edge, her feet dangling over the corpses. Trying to ignore the smell, he sat down next to her.

There was a long silence. Ginny did not so much as glance at him, as if she was hoping he'd go away. Finally, she gave him a resentful look and spoke.

"Smells like death."

Shane nodded. "Yeah."

"You smell it anywhere you go," she murmured. "It's everywhere."

"Everywhere you go people are dying," he agreed.

"That's not a lot of comfort."

There was a pause.

"What do you think of me now, Shane?" she asked very suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Now that you know I bashed in my own brother's brains, how do you feel about me?"

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"The truth."

Shane thought about this, weighing his words carefully before he spoke.

"I can't say I approve," he said slowly. "I can't say I expected that. But I can't say I don't understand."

She nodded in quiet acceptance.

"Ginny, you did the right thing. You put him out of his misery."

"Spare me the petty condolences," she said, her voice icy. "I do not want them."

Ginny turned her face skywards, gazing up at the clouds.

"When I die, if there's a heaven, I'm going to go to the Pearly Gates, give God and his buddies the middle finger, and sit my ass in hell. And burn G for all eternity." She grinned wryly. "I'm happiest when killing G. And now…be happy, or be insane."

"Which one are you?"

Ginny threw him a look that could've shattered glass, but Shane did not relent. "Happy, or insane?"

Her face was unreadable as she said, "I don't quite know."


	4. Little House

Chapter 4: Little House

_present day_

Like all things in the world, the radio eventually let them down. The battery died one day, and nobody saw any reason to try and replace it.

There wasn't much left to listen to, anyway. Most of the radio stations had either become overrun or gone silent, and those that were still active usually were endless loops of pre-war propaganda. Otherwise, well…the screaming got old after a while.

The RV had long run out of gas. It had been abandoned in the middle of a deserted field, just one more forlorn hulk of metal laid to rest among countless burned-out, bloodied shells of old cars.

The days were cold and only getting colder. Veronica, who had been keeping track of days since the beginning of the Great Panic, confirmed their suspicions that winter was setting in. It was late November already. Most everyone was dressed in light summer clothes—bad things would happen if they didn't find a place to spend the winter, or at least warm clothes.

In any case, trekking miles in an unknown direction and occasionally putting the weapons to use on zombies became everyday monotony, and it was a welcome routine Ginny gladly sank into. The killing was nothing. Neither was seeing the destruction. It was something she'd gotten used to a long time ago.

What she hadn't gotten used to was watching _people_ die.

The roads were clogged with cars and, subsequently, Gs, so they'd stopped taking the roads. The tall grass and vegetation was great camouflage and not terribly unpleasant for sleeping, but in the end the camouflage aspect ended up screwing them all over. They'd been walking, shivering, trying to keep warm, and nobody was paying attention to the ground under their feet until—

_BANG!_

Everyone whipped around, and in that moment Frank keeled over, screaming and clutching his leg—or what was left of it. Half of his right leg had been blasted off—by who or what nobody had any idea.

"Fuck!" he screamed. "Fuck!"

In an instant they were on him, trying to stem the flow of blood, scrambling for bandages, antiseptic, tweezers, anything to save his life. Ginny was the only one who remained rooted to the spot, watching them with empty eyes.

"He's past saving," she said coldly. "Don't bother."

Andrea lashed out at her, furious. "Shut up!" she shouted. "You fucking crazy bitch—shut up and help, or fuck off!"

Ginny didn't bat an eye. She just watched as bandage after bandage was applied to Frank's leg and the blood on the ground seeped into the dirt, and Andrea sobbed desperately for him to hold on, that he would be okay.

But Ginny was almost always right, and today was no exception.

Andrea rounded on her. "You!" she screamed. "Why didn't you help?"

"What the fuck could I have done?" she countered furiously. "He was missing a leg and we had the supplies to treat maybe a knee scrape. Now we don't even have the means to treat a papercut."

The woman stared down the younger girl furiously, lost for words, and then there was a resounding crack as she backhanded Ginny across the face.

Unfazed, the girl drew her gun and leveled it between Andrea's eyes.

"Hit me again," she challenged. "I dare you, hit me again."

Fury, grief, and fear flashed past Andrea's angry face in brief succession. The rest of the group remained frozen, unsure of whether to break it up or just kill the girl and be done with it.

The tension in the air could have been cut with a butter knife.

Finally, Shane reached up and grabbed Ginny's arm, breaking the spell. Yanking the pistol from her fingers, he shoved it in the holster, and took her other arm, looking her in the eyes. She stared defiantly back, and he bit back tears. He felt so sorry for the girl. He still remembered when she had been a scared, hopeful, quiet teenager looking for her father…and friends.

She had been easy to love then.

* * *

"What do you think will happen now?" Ginny asked nervously, her pale face illuminated by the small fire. Clutched in her cold fingers was a can of Coke they'd salvaged from a deserted supermarket a mile down the road. Shane shook his head.

"With Yonkers turning out the way it did…anything can happen," he said morosely. "I don't see how the military can do anything now, not with the bitchslap they got in New York."

"Oh, please," Alex snapped. He gave his younger brother a crooked grin. "Anyone could see that Yonkers was a complete cock-up. What were they thinking, anyways? Fighting holes…" He snorted. "Even my CO wasn't that much of a knucklehead. "

Veronica forced a smile. "Har, har," she said. "There are a hell of a lot of knuckleheads out there, son. Otherwise we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place."

"Who are you calling 'son'?" joked Alex. "I'm taller than you, woman!"

"Hell, I'm taller than you," quipped Ginny. Veronica crossed her arms in mock annoyance.

"Kids these days," she grumbled, but there was a smile on her face. Ginny giggled, and Shane was entranced by the way she smiled when she laughed and the light in her eyes. But at the same time, there was a shadow behind them that whispered of loss and sadness. It was haunting, enchanting, even.

That had been a month ago.

Shane barely recognized the girl that stood before them now, dirty and bloody and eyes bolting, nearly insane.

But behind those eyes something cried out in agony, something that screamed, _Help me!_

Shane realized that, despite everything, he was still willing to follow this girl anywhere.

* * *

**A/N: Jeez, I'm so sorry for the late update. Damn writer's block, it's been plaguing me for…well, ever. **

**Unfortunately, this story is still on hiatus. If and when the flow comes back, I'll start updating like crazy. I'm just swamped with work right now. **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :p**


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